


Realizing

by ijay



Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: M/M, Rivalry, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijay/pseuds/ijay





	Realizing

**BAZ**

_BEFORE_

I'd figured it out fourth year. I'd started getting hungrier, all of a sudden- started feeling urges I hadn't felt since I was eleven.

"Vampire puberty" had hit me at eleven years old, consisting of terrifying cravings of blood and a constant longing that never left. This was particularly bad timing, as I was just about to start Watford, and my family was afraid of me possibly losing control. I could've not gone to Watford at all that year, saving myself a million problems to come, but I went anyways, insistent and stubborn.

That had been a bad time. Constant thirst made me cranky- crankier than I usually was, anyways. And being around Simon Snow made me absolutely insane.

It was his magic. Not only was I hungry for his blood, but his _magic_ \- it drew me to him constantly, like I needed to be around him, like I needed it, like he was this sun of energy and I was an orbiting planet... 

And he said, when we first met, mildly, "How did you do that?"

I looked down to where he was pointing, and it was a simple _**Stick with It**_ spell- I'd attached my notebook to the side of my bag, since there wasn't enough room to fit it into the internal space. 

And I looked back at Simon in disgust, hungry, cranky, wanting him, wanting his blood, wanting to drink his blood, and his magic, his crackling, electrifying, overflowing, spilling sparkling magic...

And I remembered who he was.

Who the Mage was.

And who I was.

And how this idiot- this _Normal_ \- waltzed in, Mage by his side, an avalanche of stupid dynamite magic at his command, and no fucking idea how to use it.

This is not how it was supposed to be. Old Families knew. Magician families knew. We knew how to be safe.

And he didn't.

And all of this, this realization that came with a simple question and knit eyebrows, it washed over me alongside overwhelming hunger-

And I snapped, "Wouldn't  _you_  like to know?" 

Snow had startled, narrowed his eyes, and I had walked away. That was a bad first impression, but it didn't have to be like that. I know that we could have fixed it. We could've made nice, I could've stopped being such an asshole, Snow could've forgiven me. Possibly. But I just... couldn't. I couldn't be that friendly person. Because every time he was near me, it was the same rolling avalanche of emotional burden. It was the same nebula of a headache that drove me to near insanity. His stupidity, his name, his connection to the mage, his magic, and his blood. All pounding on me. All screaming for my attention.

And he was _always_ around me.

And it just stuck. It wasn't as though I turned into anyone different- I was always cynical, biting, dry, even as a kid. Always had been, since seeing Mom that day. So it wasn't like I was a changed person, it was just that around Simon, the worst parts of me came out- lashing, poisonous, childish and uncontrollably immature. 

And I was a Pitch. And he was a... Whatever he was. An Other. An Outcast.  _Not_  an ally of mine. 

He was the Mage's secret weapon. 

Even if I had been perfectly polite to him in the beginning, and we became friends, it would have never worked out.

My family had never been friendly towards the Mage and his political allies, but when I got home that summer, they didn't bother to mask it. They had near declared war.

And I was to take Snow down, somehow.

So I tried. For a while. Second and third year, there were constant tryings. I remember releasing a chimaera, luring him out into the merwolves moat, sending him into The Woods. Always, his stupid magic, a stupid burst of magic ready to save him, setting him off and nearly taking me with it.

And then, fourth year, after a few more weak tries, I'd noticed it.

*****

Fourth year, I got hungrier. A different type of hungry, but hunger all the same. I hadn't felt cravings like that since I was eleven.

We were fighting. We were always fighting. Obviously, I was more in the wrong than he was, with me trying to kill him and all, but it didn't stop me from arguing back. 

"What is your  _problem_?" Simon wanted to know. This time was a little different. He was more than a little furious. His precious Agatha, golden, beautiful Agatha, had gotten dragged into the mess I made, and she got a nice bloody scratch somewhere along her palm that drove Snow ballistic.

It was driving me ballistic, too, but he, of course, wouldn't know that. The scent of blood filled the air and made my vision a gauzy red.

" _You're my problem_. Always you. Haven't you realized?" 

"You..." Simon fumed, unable to get words together. He couldn't even form up some stammers. He seemed beyond the point of sense.

"Yes," I sneered, with a pained sort of smile. Everything was sort of painful right now- perhaps the blood was getting to my head. "Me."

"You..." 

"Snow, please- do get out with it."

"Are scum," he spat. "You bloody wanker, you miserable, pathetic fuckwad-"

This was new. These types of insults, coming from Snow? This was most definitely new. I looked on with heightened interest.

Even in the moonlight, his cheeks were flushed, gold clashing with silver to make a sort of gray mix. He looked stony, and his eyes were also a blue kind of gray, and in that moment, with him throwing names at me, spluttering and raging and sparkling with magic rising from his fingertips, he seemed like me. Just a little. Like he was going through the same sort of pain- _ha_ \- I was going through.

It was interesting. And it also stung me, watching him. Probably because... Probably because I didn't like looking at myself.

And then Snow had lunged, somehow, and I heard my thoughts dissipate with a slam to reality and a "- _fucking_   _listening_  to me!"

And I hated to say it, but I was afraid. For a second. Because suddenly, all of it was there, in my palms, all the magic, all the blood, all the things I've been needing constantly for the past few years, all the hunger I've managed to control, but for right now, it was wild, and it was hungrier than ever, a more painful than ever, and more different than I've ever felt it-

And Simon Snow got up in my face, breath on my cheek, my back slammed into the ground, my face impassive, and he bit out into my ear-

"One of these days, you will kill me. And when you do, I swear, I will take you down with me."

It was a stupid, electrified, emotional comment that Snow didn't even mean. He meant it, maybe, in the _moment_. But later, I knew, he'd calm down, put me to the back of his mind, keep himself in check again. He never "took down" anyone. He did what he was supposed to do. He still killed, sure. He killed when he _had_ to. He killed when he didn't mean to. But killing out of vengeance? Was not in his vocabulary.

But he said the truth, without realizing it. He would kill me even if he didn't mean to. He would take me down without purpose. He would stupidly, unknowingly, obliviously let me live and die while he died himself.

Because I noticed the freckles on his nose when he slammed me into the ground. And I noticed that I automatically knew how many freckles he had there (twenty-two) and I noticed his voice trembling and I noticed his curls limp on top of his head and I noticed that I wanted to pat them down and tell him it was okay. 

And I noticed just exactly what this new hunger was, why it was so exhilarating and so freshly painful ( _so_  fucking excruciating).

It wasn't just blood, or the magic.

It was him.

That day, I noticed- still staring at the sky, still on my back, still staring at where his freckles had been minutes earlier, up close and personal- that if Simon Snow died, he would surely, undoubtedly, take me down with him.

Because I was completely in love with him.

********

_AFTER_

I didn't act any differently after noticing, of course. Not on the outside.

On the outside, my words lashed and bit just as savagely as ever. I sneered, I curled my lip, I glared daggers. I flung everything I could against my own body. I tried and tried and tried to fall for others- from George onto fifth years to eighth and first years to even Niall. I tried denial out for a couple of months- it was painful and even more torturous and didn't suit me well. 

It was hopeless. I knew it was. 

And I still had to kill him

Or at least try.

Aunt Fiona and Dad were getting more intolerable by the minute about it, too. More and more agitated. _The Mage!_ they'd screech. _Our family!_

 _Shut up_ , I wanted to tell everyone. _Shut up, shut up, shut up_ -

Especially Snow. Especially him, who'd been trying out this new thing where he's been talking out his problems.

"Shut up," I'd bite out eventually.

But he didn't.

"They have to be among us," he'd let his tongue stick out of his mouth, like he always did when he was thinking. Like a dog. A kissable dog. 

I hated myself.

"Because... the attacks, they've always been here. And nobody has seen traces of anything else. So it has to be... it could be one of the creatures on the campus, Penny said..."

"Shut up," I repeated, trudging into our bathroom. And for a second, after silence prevailed, a knot loosened in my chest curiously, because maybe he'd actually listened for once. 

But to no avail. "This concerns you, too."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my toothpaste, continuing to listen against my will. "They could attack you, too," Simon reminded, defensive. "It's not just the Mage and his allies. It's _everyone_."

My toothbrush slid against my fangs, and I flinched, just a little. Simon had appeared at the doorway. They never slid out unless I was eating, but I still felt self-conscious about brushing my teeth like this... Because maybe someone would think of teeth, and then look at my skin, and notice it's rather pale for a normal mage, and then connect the dots...

"You'd really rather risk someone killing you? Just to get at me? You'd really risk all the lives of everyone here, the future of magicians, just because we're on separate sides of a war against the _same thing?_ "

He's brought this up before. Many times. Especially first year when he was somehow even more confused and helpless and pathetically unknowledgeable than he was now. He called it "politics". He didn't understand why having a common enemy wouldn't bring two completely clashing sides together. He didn't understand why having a common enemy was part of the problem, why the reason why we fought was not over _if_ we had to fight the Humdrum but _how_ to fight the Humdrum-

And I should have told him that. I should have told him to fuck off. I should have told him to go back to bed, to shut up for the third time, to "go ask Bunce"... I should have, at the very least, explained- for the millionth time- why we weren't allies and why he was a blundering idiot.

But instead, horrifyingly, the words that come out of my own mouth were "Have you ever thought about the merwolves?" Because I had. And there was a smell of water in the air at all of the killings. There were footsteps traveling from the moat on the nights where I went out to the woods to feed. 

He blinked. Simon, with his crown of bronze spirals mussed on his head. I fought the uncontrollable urge to fix them, and something kicked my insides.

"I-" he attempted to say, but I spat in the sink, rinsed the blue foam from the white bowl, and turned to brush past Simon, who was assailing me with questions, all stammering, as usual.

I brushed past him, and he turned towards me. I shuddered the smallest, subtlest shudder. His mouth was always so close.

I promptly ignored whatever he was saying and felt the coolness against my legs as I slipped between the sheets. For a split second, I heard his footsteps follow, and a tidal wave of irritation, hope, and fear surged in my chest as I thought of Simon following me to my bed, stubborn and insufferable, brushing my shoulder to get my attention, stupidly blabbering, his stupid mouth ready to be attacked by mine-

He didn't, and relief soothed me. The barest spark of disappointment rose in the deepest part of myself, and annoyance flared up because of it. _Good_ , I thought, trying to project my anger at Snow. _Anger I could deal with._

 _This, though_ , I realized, breathing in his scent of blood and apples and grass and smoke, nearly sighing. God, I fucking hated myself.  _This..._

 _This is going to kill me._  

**********************

**SIMON**

_BEFORE_

Seventh year was when I figured it out.

It just seemed like that year... Everything changed.

Penelope wasn't allowed to talk to me. She still did, of course. But she wasn't allowed to. And there were some extra leaps and bounds, some extra precautions she had to take to get to me. And there wasn't necessarily a riff between us, but... there was a riff in the situation. And it seemed like we always had to find ways to get around it.

The Mage was seeing me nearly every three days. The war preparations were beginning for me, and I didn't even quite know what I was fighting.

Some people ignored me in the halls, and others began following me around. Some worshipped my feet, and others regarded me with scorn and faraway whispers.

Even Agatha kept her distance. And then she kept it longer. Until I cornered her, and she told me she wanted to leave this place. That she didn't feel safe. And that she especially didn't feel safe around me.

And she walked away, leaving me confused and hurt and ready to explode with the bombs within me, with the universe at my fingertips. She left a few weeks later, with a kiss on my cheek and a promise to keep in touch that I didn't expect her to keep.

Everyone had changed. Including me. Always angry, always hurt, and so tired- that's the person that I ended up becoming.

And it seemed like the only one that hadn't changed was him.

"That's the best you can do, Snow? Crowley." 

"Upping your game today, hm? Finally- you've managed work fit for a six year old!"

"We're changing it into a pencil, mind you, not a porcupine. I know it must be difficult as they both start with 'p', but just try to gather the difference, maybe?" 

It was annoying. It made me frighteningly frustrated. And it made me laugh under my breath. I had to force back my smiles because if he saw how much relief he gave me, how happy his comments made me, he would stop.

Penelope noticed and questioned me about it as we walked on out. I shrugged my shoulders and hoped that'd answer her curiosity.

It didn't. As usual.

"Simon. Is there... Are you and Baz friends, now?"

I almost stumbled into a wall. "Penny! No! That's the- that's the _point_. He’s not my friend. In the slightest. He's just the same. And everything else is different. And it's nice to have someone know you and know that it's all..." I would have stammered on for a while after that if Penny hadn't cut me off.

"Familiarity," Penny nodded, spectacles gleaming. "I see. You know, there's actually a fascinating-"

And then she noticed the different birds soaring up above, and she shot me a worried, apologetic sort of glance as she raced on forward. I looked on a little bitterly before heading up the staircase to the study hall. Penny would meet me up there in her own way, I knew, but first she had to get around the watchful eyes of those that could report back to her parents.

I stumbled over a foot and swore, looking back to see a flash of gray, black, and silver gracefully dodge my clumsiness. 

He was ahead of me, and he couldn’t see my smile, so I let one sneak across my face. 

*****

We were arguing when I noticed. 

I think... I think I was the one to start it, that time. We hadn’t been talking for the past few days, for whatever reason, and he hadn’t been sleeping in our room, for whatever reason ( _was he with someone? did he sleep somewhere... with someone else...?_ the thought disgusted me, even if I didn’t know why. _who would sleep with Baz?_ ) 

And yeah, I did miss him. I missed normal. I missed familiarity, like Penny said. I missed knowing someone was going to be there that would keep me in check like he would.

So he walked in, after days missing, and I did the most familiar thing I could think of- starting conversations I shouldn't start.

“You’ve been out feeding a lot.”

He froze for the tiniest of seconds before going about his business. I never really brought up... His little problem. Not directly. Not since fifth year. Since then it’s been... little hints and jabs. And he’s never broken. Not a single time. 

He started with taking off his tie, but I could tell he was tense.

“Do you not think of the consequences?” I pressed on while my thoughts raged underneath. _Were you feeding? Or were you with someone?_   “Aren’t you supposed to at least try to hide the fact that you’re a vampire?”

“Aren’t you supposed to at least try to be the _Chosen One_?” Baz sneered lightly back, face all porcelain cheekbones and elegance, even with distaste resting on it. “Or have you finally realized that it’s pointless?”

Normally, that would’ve hurt a little. And maybe it still had. I couldn’t tell over the soft happiness that erupted internally. _Finally_.

“So you _were_ feeding,” I stepped a little closer, sounding a little (pathetically) desperate. But I was always pretty pathetic, so I didn’t really mind. Baz had turned his back to me, laying out some clothes on his bed, for whatever reason. “How could you be so _stupid_?”

“Me? Stupid?” Baz had let out a short bark of laughter. “Have you looked at yourself? Can’t even... Fuck, Snow, you can’t even control your own magic. How are you supposed to fight the Humdrum? And it’s coming, apparently, considering that you’re sneaking away to the Mage twice a week. Have you considered, maybe, that I’m preparing? Just like you? _Crowley_.”

The softness inside ebbed away to interest. _So. Not feeding._ ( _Also not with someone._ ) “How are you preparing? What are you doing? Were you with your family?”

Baz spun around and stared at me. I forgot to keep my vicious expression up, and stared back, suddenly feeling caught. His eyes were darker than usual- a sort of navy ocean gray. Not normal. _Was he okay_? 

“In case you’ve forgotten,” his voice snapped me back, and I was brought back to his cheekbones. Which managed to look steely and delicate at the same time. “We are at war _with each other_. Why are you _so stupid_ as to think that I would give you information? How has this not been bulleted into your brain? How am I still giving you this lecture after seven fucking years?”

“Maybe because it’s just _politics_ ,” I repeated back, as usual, saying what I normally said. My mind was somewhere else, though, and I couldn’t help see the scars on his lips, like he’d been biting them too much- “And _stupid_. And maybe I don’t care about the Old Families and Revolution and- _are you okay_?”

Baz took a clumsy step back. Wow. That was new. He was never clumsy. clumsy had always been my job. Baz was all... grace. Always. Grace and charm.

“Baz-” I reached out, worriedly, taking a step forward, and he pushed me away, sneering, turning back to his bed, all grace restored. 

“How kind,” he spat, his back towards me. “How _benevolent_. The Chosen One doesn’t _care_ about the Old Families. We should all hold hands now, right? Realize that kindness is the answer? Fucking Crowley. I get that you need some optimism, Snow, but complete, abject idiocy is not going to win you this. There’s a hint for you and your precious Mage. I wasn’t going to give you one, but seems like you fucking need it.”

It occurred to me just now that he had a luggage out on his bed. My eyes refocused- packing?

“You’re... Where are you going?”

Baz groaned, like he reached his breaking point. “It’s Christmas, Snow. What do you fucking think? Some of us actually do have a family to get back to.”

And I hated myself for it, but that did sting a bit. Because it reminded me of Agatha, and how I couldn’t stay with her this year, and how I didn’t really have anyone. Except apparently for fucking Baz. And that was finally starting to look like what it actually was: a disadvantage rather than a comfort.

I stepped back from him right then. I quietly turned away myself, unable to do much else but stare at my bedside drawer. 

And then, eventually, at Baz.

Because his eyes were angry and focused, and his hair was silky and black and in place, matching the curves of his jawline. And his skin looked a bottomless gray, and his nose looked to be carved out of marble, and he refused to look at me. 

And I was noticing all of this, and I was noticing how hurt I felt, and I was suddenly noticing the slight pink that dusted his cheekbones before it faded. _He never blushes_ , I realized. _Is that because he doesn't have enough blood in his system? Why is he blushing now? Did he just feed?_

“Stop staring at me, Snow,” he slammed his bag together and zipped it in a couple fluid, flawless motions. “I know I’m irresistible, but it’s making me uncomfortable.”

And the door slammed, leaving the room a thousand times emptier and more dead than it had been a few minutes before.

And I was still staring at the place Baz had been in with shock.

Because along with all the things I noticed, I realized that there’d been a longing.

A... completely and utterly ridiculous longing. The worst idea my body has been through yet. The most unbearable idea that I could comprehend.

I couldn’t even think it. All I could do was stare.

At night, alone, with Penelope at her parents’ and unable to sneak up and keep me company, without the Mage sending for me, without Baz- only then could I brave the thought.

I missed him.

I missed Tyrannus Basilton Pitch.

Terribly.

And the thought of not seeing him for another two weeks sent pangs throughout my stomach.

And the thought of fighting with him sent bubbles throughout my chest. 

And the thought of kissing him, of holding him close, of touching his cheekbones, of touching his hair, all of that sent something humming throughout my entire body.

I closed my eyes, my body hurting and singing at the same time. 

Everything was changing around me. Only Baz had stayed the same.

And now I wouldn’t even be able to look at him the same after this.

****

_AFTER_

I couldn’t help but act differently after noticing, of course. Especially after that. 

When Baz came back, finally, after two weeks, my body nearly ripped itself apart out of nerves and smiles.

He didn’t say anything when he walked in and saw me sitting there, twiddling my fingers, jumping as the door opened. I guess I shouldn’t have expected him to. He just dropped his bags on his bed and went off to take a shower.

Even that idea made me jolt, made me jittery and nervous. _He was taking a shower._  

 _A lot of people take showers, Snow_ , I could hear him sneer in my head. Something rolled into a ball in my stomach.

I heard the knob squeak, and the water stop splattering onto the floor. I panicked, flinging myself onto the bed, curling up under the blankets, pretending to go to sleep.

 _Smooth_ , Baz remarked dryly in my head. _So smooth. Afraid of his own roommate. I'm swooning, Snow._ My heart pounded. My head pounded. 

“Crowley,” Baz- _real Baz_ \- drawled out, his voice dripping. “What have you been doing at night since I was gone?”

And something painful pinged in my chest, hearing his implications. _No_ , I could have said, pitifully. _No, I only want that with you_. 

It was ridiculous, how hard I’d fallen in such a short amount of time. Or maybe I’d always felt this way, and it just took me this long to realize.

I expected him to leave, to go off with Niall and perhaps Dev, or to study, or to just get away in general. But I heard him fumbling with his clothes, get dressed, and ease back onto his bed. I heard him muttering some spells underneath his breath. I heard some flashes and flares- could feel some smoke spark from a couple feet away. So. He was studying.

I held my breath a lot, sometimes forgetting to breathe. I had to force myself to loosen. I had to tell myself to calm down. I had to remind myself to exhale. I had to remember that Baz had no idea, and he probably would never have any idea, and he could not find out about this, because he would most definitely rip me apart-

I mean, he already was. Ripping me apart, that is. So I suppose it didn’t really matter all too much.

But, no. I had to live with him. I had to keep my head. I could not let this secret rule me.

“Could you maybe do that a little quieter?” There. I went over that in my head a couple times before saying it. But I was still tense, and my words still sounded a little too high and a little too tight, and I winced.

“This is my room too, Snow. Maybe you should’ve thought about that before having whatever nighttime adventures that you’ve had.”

Something in my chest knotted. “I didn’t sleep with anyone,” I mumbled before I could stop myself, pulling the covers tighter over me. “Agatha’s gone, remember?” 

Stupid. Like Baz cared. Like Baz needed reassurance about me like I need it from him. 

I could hear Baz’s smirk from across the room. “I was talking about your nighttime visits to the Mage,” he said lightly, turning a page. “But thank you for the updates. Really, truly.”

He sounded delighted to tease me again. And I smiled.

*****

**BAZ**

Simon was acting different.

It might’ve been what I’d said, about him not having a family. Maybe it was too harsh. But I’ve always said too harsh things and it had never really affected him like this. 

He was acting... more scared of me. And it hurt a little. No, it hurt a lot.

I hated it. I hated myself. God, I hated him.

(And also loved him.)

((Fuck. I was a fucking mess.))

And he couldn't stop staring. He liked to stare- he’d done it before over the years, and I’ve yelled at him for it, but now it was like he didn't know how to control it. I’ve snapped at him about it too many times, and still, his eyes stayed on me. It made me agitated. Like he’d see right through me if he looked hard enough.

He already knew that I was a vampire, so I didn’t know what else he was looking for. Concrete proof, maybe? Maybe he wanted to see my fangs. _Good luck with that, then, Snow._

He stammered more, too. Too much. Like his brain had finally fizzled out. I knew it would happen one day. 

Maybe he’d been working too hard. Maybe the Mage was doing unspeakable things to him, with dark magic, to prepare him for the Humdrum. I wouldn’t put it past him.

*****

He stood farther away, too. Just slightly. Like he couldn't trust going near to me. Like I'd rip his face off, or something.

About time, I suppose.

Still hurt.

****

He still liked arguing, though. He’d stammer a lot at first, but then ease back into it, and visibly relax, and it made me want to argue with him for a million years, if he’d only just... _stay calm_ like that. 

****

**SIMON**

His lips. I was obsessed with them. They were gray, and sometimes just barely pink, and that was when I knew he'd fed recently- if there was just the tiniest hue of rose.

At least once a day, Baz would look up and catch me staring, and he'd shoot daggers at my eyes. But I couldn't stop. Even then, with him watching, I continued to stare back. Until he mouthed the words, "Stop", or "Go away", and I wrenched my gaze from his.

I looked at them in Occulation, Defense, Word Magic, History... I looked at them in our room, when we woke up, when we ate. That was how Penelope found out, actually. Or started to figure it out.

"What's wrong with you?" she'd finally demanded one day. "Or, at the very least, what's wrong with Baz?" 

I'd snapped when she said his name, my nerves shot. "Baz?" I'd repeated, stupidly. 

"Yes. Is this a repeat of fifth year? Are you trailing him again? Have you gotten paranoid that he's out to get you?"

"He is out to get me," I'd remembered, gloomily. _Damn. Damn it all to hell. Why him? Why?_

Penelope had waited for a generous two seconds before poking me. Hard. " _Simon_. Elaborate."

I've never liked lying to Penny. But this... I couldn't. I just couldn't.

"He's been gone at night. I think he's talking to his family, trying to plan against the Mage for the war..."

"Simon. My family's planning against the Mage for the war. Doesn't mean I still won't fight by your side. Doesn't mean we're out to _get_ you."

I'd meant to say a lot of things right then. I'd meant to argue that Baz was different, that he wanted to kill me, that his family was willing to hurt the "Mage's Weapon" if it meant hurting me. But then... But then I said, "Except Premal."

Baz was right. Completely. I was so excruciatingly stupid.

Penelope had flinched, her eyes darkening. Premal was her brother, who went against her family to join the Mage. He hadn't celebrated Christmas with them that year, and instead stayed around Watford like I did. She'd given her brother a Christmas present anyway, and later found it back at her doorstep.

"Right," Penelope had bitten out. "Except Premal."

I had tried to apologize, but Penelope was already waving her hand. "No, no. It's fine. It's not your fault, isn't it?"

But she hadn't spoken the rest of the walk to class, and then promptly avoided all subjects on Christmas or family for the rest of the day.

At least she hadn't talked about Baz, either.

But I could tell that she still noticed and was slowly gathering her hypotheses. She would obviously reach the correct conclusion soon- probably in the next few days.

After grabbing a cherry scone, I settled back into looking at Baz's lips. And I realized... that I had to try. I couldn't live on like this. I had to do something or go insane.

Baz's eyes caught mine, and I tried for a weak smile. He blinked, curled his lip, and promptly turned his back, ignoring me for Niall. 

My shoulders drooped. But I grabbed a lemon tart for later and carefully wrapped it in a napkin anyway.

******

**BAZ**

There was something wrong with Simon Snow.

He had been asking if I was okay, waving to me, and smiling, although his smiles and waves were forced and tight. He was either possessed or planning something with the Mage. 

It hurt my chest every time he did something. My chest roared, and if I didn't have my mind, my body would be reacting to his every move. But I could see the pain in his eyes when he looked at me, and I could see the force needed to move his lips and hands into friendly gestures, and I knew not to fall for whatever he was doing for a second. 

I hesitated before walking into our room. I was... afraid. Crowley, I hated my feelings.

Afraid that I'd break my resistance and kiss him, or something. Even though I wouldn't. I had more resistance than half of the people in this school.

Simon startled when I walked in through the door, which sprung a fresh stream of pain in my ribcage. I promptly ignored him and went to gather a couple books when Simon cleared his throat. I could see him in my peripheral vision shifting his feet.

Simon cleared his throat again, and I lashed out with a scathing, "Use your _words_ , Snow."

Simon fumbled around in his pocket, looking positively scandalized. I turned around, a little curious and still a little hurt.

(Also a little pleased, having this effect on Snow. Having any effect on Snow, really.)

He presented me with a bright yellow-stained napkin, crumbs falling out on the sides. He reached out to hand it to me, and when I looked down at it in skepticism, he put it awkwardly on my dresser. I continued eying the thing with distaste.

"You like lemon tarts," Simon continued with false brightness, looking down at his shoes, ears burning red. "So... yeah. Just in case you get hungry."

And I looked at the thing again, moving swiftly to rip open the napkins. A crumbling, half-smushed lemon tart sat in near ruins in the package. 

It was all at once too much. Too sweet, too painful, too much. A flame reopened in my chest, roaring and hungry and throbbing, wanting Snow, longing for him, longing for his sad lemon tart gifts, imagining a fantasy world where he gave this to me because we were boyfriends and we loved each other instead of this sad reality, where he was clearly planning my end defeat.

And doing a fucking good job of it, at that.

I couldn't stand looking at him, with his twenty-two freckles and blushing ears and trampled gold curls and brown skin. With his watching, widened, searching eyes and crumbs on his hands and crumpled uniform. I couldn't fight him. I couldn't demand an explanation right now. I might just burst into tears, the fucking weakling that I was.

So instead I was already flying down the stairs. Two seconds earlier, I was holding a lemon tart.

At the moment, I was already utterly gone.

*****

**SIMON**

I thought about trailing after him. I did.

But he knew. It was obvious. He knew what I wanted, he knew how I thought about him, and bolted.

I should have let it go. I should've given up then, refused to talk about it, let the matter fade, buried my head in my hands and pretended it never happened.

But I couldn't. 

Because apparently I liked to make myself as miserable as possible.

******

He came back at midnight. I hadn't been waiting for him, exactly, but I got worried. And then I got really worried. And I set a rule that I wouldn't go out to find him until two. 

I fantasized in the meantime. Stupid fantasies. Baz coming back apologizing. Baz and I arguing. Baz confessing his love. Baz and I kissing. 

Hopeless. Hopeless.

Anyway, he came back at midnight. And I was waiting. He walked elegantly to the bathroom, and I couldn't tell if he knew I was awake or not.

I stood in their doorway pathetically. As usual. He refused to look at me.

"Where were you?" I asked, painfully pitiful. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head furiously. "Stop," he spat into the sink. " _Asking_ me that."

"Answer the question and I'll stop asking," I retaliated, a little more comfortable. We were fighting. Familiar ground.

"Just perfectly fine," he bit out, each syllable loaded like a gun. "Just... fucking perfect."

"Yeah, well, you really don't sound it."

"So observant, aren't you?" Baz's words dripped, and he flinched when he saw me in the door. And that hurt. That really, really stung, more than I thought it would. Perhaps he was homophobic. Perhaps... perhaps he couldn't stand the sight of me, because I wanted him so much.

Something inside me shriveled, and I turned away, eyes down. My magic was roaring, screaming, hurt, sparkling all over, seeing red-

Something grabbed my arm.

"Turn that _down_ ," Baz's voice hissed, and I realized that the room was smoking, that my body was sparkling, that I was near ready to explode. Shocked, seeing Baz's eyes, feeling his fingers dig into my arm, I immediately inhaled, trying to rein it all back in. The sparks died. The red evened out. It was a bit of a struggle, but I managed to do it. And I was feeling more defeated than angry, smelling the wasted lemon in the room, smelling the cedar wood on Baz's clothes, knowing I was in a hopeless situation, and that probably made my magic calm down, too. 

"What," the fingers clenched into my bicep, and I turned back to Baz's eyes. I couldn't quite see them in the dark. "Is your _problem_?"

"My..." I blinked. I didn't know which problem we were exactly talking about. The magic? Liking Baz? Being Simon Snow? 

And then, somehow, I was against the wall, and Baz was closer to me than he'd been in a while, and I couldn't help but hold my breath. I forgot to remind Baz about Anathema, the rule that prevented roommates from hurting each other. (For upper years, if you tried, you got whisked out of school magically, and could never enter again.) All I could do was listen to his words.

"I don't know what you're doing. I don't know why you've been acting differently. I don't know if this is for the Mage, or if you're trying to be funny, or if... I don't know. I don't know what your master plan is right now. But I know you have one, and I'm telling you to stop, now, because you will lose this game you're playing." The fingers tightened. "And I can make your life a living hell. I _dare_ you to try and play me."

And then the fingers were gone, and I exhaled, sharply, out of instinct, and he was gone, already pulling back the covers, climbing into his bed, the moonlight on his neck. And I stared. Like I usually did.

And I heard him inhale abruptly as I softly sat on his bed.

I could tell that I had about three seconds to live. I should have walked off. I should have slipped under my own covers. But I chose instead to state, "I'm tired of fighting."

Baz froze, his lip curling, his eyes opening. He raised a hand to his forehead, looking overwhelmingly exasperated. Like he was tired of fighting, too. Tired of fighting about fighting. 

"I don't want to have this conversation. Get off my bed."

"But why? I don't understand- why do we have to? Because of your family? What could they possibly have against me? Why can't we all just fight the Humdrum, like we're supposed to? We're wasting all this time going off on each other when we should be-"

"I have," Baz's voice strained, slow and struggling, like he was talking to a two-year-old and trying not to lose it, "Explained this to you. _Bunce_ has explained this to you. So. Many. Times."

"But it's never made any _sense_."

"It is fucking _midnight_ , Snow."

"I want us to be... _friends_ , Baz. Or at least allies. Or at least not enemies."

" _Tough_."

"Give me one good reason not to."

"The Mage is an idiot."

"So? He still wants to fight the Humdrum. You still want to fight the Humdrum, unless you're working for the thing. What's the difference?"

"The difference is the cost he'll pay to get what he wants. _That's_ the difference."

"To defeat the Humdrum? Wouldn't _you_ pay any cost?"

"I can not fucking believe-" he's whipped off the covers now, his eyes flaring at mine. "No. The Mage is in charge. He has the power. There should be a person in charge who knows how to _use_ that power. It's the difference between a general and a dog ordering you into war. I want someone that can _win_ this war in charge- I do not want someone with his adolescent prodigy who can't even cast a simple _Up, Up, and Away_ spell to lead their army against the Humdrum. And as long as the Mage would rather clench power in his hands than let some of the people speak and lead us to victory, no, I am not on his side. Because I do not believe he can win. So, I want to pay the _right_ cost. Crowley. How many times have I explained this?"

We were so close. His eyes were right near mine, eyelids drooping. I supposed I should have let him sleep- he probably was in no right mind to argue.

"Why can't we be friends, though?" I wanted to know. "That's all the Mage and families and adults- why can't we, like, teenagers fight together?"

Baz's eyes opened, and his face leaned back, and my eyes fell a little. 

" _Snow_. God. Do you just refuse to listen to anything you don't like to hear?"

"I don't hear an answer."

"Exactly my point. Fuck, I'm going to bed. Maybe you can whine to me tomorrow, if I'm being nice." 

I pulled his arm back to keep him from collapsing, and he snarled, and I smiled. 

"I don't have a plan. I don't have any plan. The Mage isn't telling me to do anything.” If seducing you isn’t considered a plan. 

“Bull. At the very least, he’s got you... He’s got you trying to make allies, to get some Old Families to switch sides...”

“Do a truth spell, if you want. I’m not trying to hurt you. Or your family.”

Baz rolled his eyes, and my hand dropped to holding his wrist. After a few seconds, when it was clear that he was going to do no such thing, I reached for my wand.

When he realized what exactly was in my hand, Baz looked a little more awake. Alarmed, more like. Afraid. “Fuck, no, you’re going to-”

“ **Truer words have never been spoken!** ” I chanted, before Baz could knock the wand out of my hands. The world sparked, and Baz’s eyes widened, and my words tumbled out, too fast, too much, too true, more than I wanted him to know-

“I have a plan. But it’s not to hurt you, or your family. I want to be friends. Or, really, I want to be more than friends. I want to knock you over, and kiss you senseless, and hold you. But you’re Baz. And I’m Simon. So friends are what we’ll have to be for now, if you’ll let us be. I like you so, so much. For a while now, I've liked you. Maybe even more than like. God, I'm hoping not more than like. I don't think I'll be able to live with that. I might not even live with it right now- I feel like... I feel like I want you to like me back so badly that it's going to kill me. I've been dying. Completely dying, because we can't even seem to be friends, let alone boyfriends, and it’s a stupid sort of fantasy, and kind of hopeless, but the chance is still there-”

And I didn’t realize, but his words were tumbling out, just as fast, angry, furious.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you, Simon Snow, because I’m in fucking love with you. And I can’t have you sitting here on my bed, bothering me with your fucking questions about being friends and being allies because we can’t, and I can’t handle you being so close. And I want you so badly, I want the lemon tart to be a present from a boyfriend, because you loved me, because you wanted me, and I wanted you to ask if I was okay to check up on me, because you wanted to know that I was okay, not because of whatever fucking plan you have underneath the words. And I’m so pissed that you cast this, because you never think, because you’re so _stupid_. You never think about your actions, you stumble into things, and you barely survive anything because of it. And I should've known you were going to do the same right now- I should've fucking known. And now I’ll have to kill you, because you know all of this. Because I’m humiliated, and because I hurt every single day, and because this is torture, and now that you know about it, it’ll be a thousand times-”

And then I kissed him. Hard. Fast. Our mouths were still talking, pouring truth and kisses onto each other’s tongues. 

“ **Freedom of speech!** ” I managed, and sparks flew from my tongue, onto Baz's and finally I could stop _speaking_ and start what I'd been dreaming to start for the past month. I reached up behind him to grab a hold of his neck, the one that caught the moonlight. And I clutched some of his hair, because I needed it to be messy for once, I needed to finally _feel_ it, feel the ebony silk between my fingers-

_I’m in fucking love with you, Simon Snow._

He said that. 

_He said that._

****

**BAZ**

I kissed him back, because I remembered his words. My cheeks burned, but his were burning redder, and I sucked on his lip, avoiding using my teeth.

_I want to knock you over, and kiss you senseless, and hold you._

Do it, Simon. I dare you.

_I like you so, so much._

I love you. Completely. And totally.

_And I want you to like me back so badly it's going to kill me._

You have no _fucking_ idea.

And I kissed him again, high, dizzy, completely and totally gone, utterly clouded, utterly crazed, clutching his back, bringing his chest towards mine, and he _whimpered_.

And I think I might've whimpered back.

Because it felt so, so good.

****

**SIMON**

I felt... 

Like it wasn't real. Like it couldn't be real.

But it was. Baz's face was in my hands. His cheekbones- his cheekbones were right there, and I'd been brushing them with my fingers, I'd been feeling them with my lips, I'd been smoothing them over with my nose. He keeps pressing deep, haunting kisses to my nose, around my cheeks, down my jawline with little, precise spots, like he's counting something off. And he keeps going back to my head, thumbing my curls, kissing them flat, kissing a line down to my ears, which he would then completely demolish.

I found his hand on my cheek, and he let me hold it. He let our fingers intertwine. He let me curl my other arm around his entire head and attack his lips with mine, pressing further and further and further with more and more and more force until my lips were numb. And I came up for air to breathe, and he caught my lips again, mouth and tongue moving, everything moving, exploring, frantic, like we only had this second to do all of it.

 _I like you_ , I said. _I want you._

He closed his eyes like it was painful to hear it, so I stopped saying it, and I tried to kiss it all away, tried to kiss the pain away, with delicate, light, worried kisses on his eyelids. He fell back and took me with him, and I shifted my legs so my knees were on either side of his torso, and my elbows were on either side of his shoulders, and he reached up for me, and I kissed him again, and again, and again.

****

BAZ

Hands slid up my back, and I shuddered. I felt for his stomach, for his arms, and he sighed, tipping his head back, and I kissed his neck, mouthed his jaw, lips numb. 

When my eyelids slid down, and I could barely keep them up, I could hear him say my name- _Baz. Baz. That was my name. Right._ \- and I could feel him curl up into my side, a leg between mine, and I held him and let him hold me, because that’s all that was left of his list, wasn’t it? 

_I want to knock you over, and kiss you senseless, and hold you._

I could feel him inhale me, breathe me, and his nose snuggled farther into the crook of my neck, lips pressed against one of the bones that stuck out along my collar. His arms were wrapped around my waist. I shifted a bit so he could reach me more comfortably, so I could turn into him, so I could hold his back, so I could bury my nose into his bronze curls. My stomach was still pressing into a little box, continuing to compact, attempting to loosen and pitifully failing. My pulse was generally slow, being dead and all, fluctuating in speed depending on how much blood had been drunk that day, but right now I could feel my veins and heart ready to leap out of my skin, they were pounding so fast.

I kissed the top of his head. Because I was totally hopeless.

I fell asleep knowing that Simon Snow was still going to be the death of me, but if this was how I was going to die, at least I’d do it happily.

****

**SIMON**

I woke up to an alarm with last night in my mind. And I couldn't bring myself to open my eyelids, because I couldn't handle opening my eyes and having everything be the same, with me still in my own bed, and Baz still in his, with no words passed between us, with no hours of kissing and no falling asleep together. 

And then something shifted next to me, and a leg moved on top of mine, and I sighed, so happy, so willing to die here, so unwilling to get up and face the world. I could smell the cedar wood again, the one that clung to Baz like a second skin. I suppose I got used to it, to breathing it in, to sleeping and basking in it. The thought made my stomach twist and curl and snuggle up within itself, singing. 

"Baz," I tried out, eyelids still heavy, still fluttering, and another mouth snuck in and caught the next word I try to say with my lips.

"You're going to be late."

" _We're_  going to be late."

"Who's fault will that be, then?"

I clung tighter, holding his breaths and moving, fluid ribcage against mine. Arms and hands feeling a patch of skin that peeked out from under Baz's shirt. I traced a circle there, and he hummed. 

"We're going to be late," he agreed, and kissed me. And I laughed against his lips, bringing my forehead to his, breaking out into one of the biggest smiles of the year. And I couldn't stop. He tucked his forehead into my neck, sighing, fingers somehow in my hair, and I grinned. 

It took me seven years to realize. 

****

**PENELOPE**

I figured it out the day after everything changed.

Simon was giddy. Absolutely, completely, utterly. And he was staring again. And with dread, I turned to find Baz at the other end. I wasn’t surprised at that moment, and I cringed, putting together the final pieces of the vague puzzle I’d been given when Simon started his staring contests.

What did surprise me was Baz looking up to meet Simon’s eyes.

And smiling back. With the softest look I’ve ever seen him wear, before it fell to a sarcastic sort of grin.

I looked at Simon, who couldn’t contain the sunshine that fell onto his expression. His supernova of magic that somehow beamed through and electrified his cheekbones, teeth, and eyes.

And I put in the last piece of my mental jigsaw puzzle, hesitant, uncertain, and... yes, a little scared of the results.

“Simon,” I narrowed my eyes. “Is there something you haven’t told your best friend?”


End file.
